Polly’s mother and father listened to their daughter, with adoration plainly expressed on their faces, and Tom had to grit his teeth to keep from swearing, because of what he considered their influence over Polly in this, her foolish infatuation for a business when she ought to be in love with him.
When Mr. Dalken saw that he had launched a dangerous subject for Polly and Tom, he had a bright idea. So he acted upon it instantly. He excused himself from his friends’ circle, and sought the Captain. In a short time thereafter, the passengers heard the band playing dance music, and immediately, most of the younger set hurried to the Grand Salon.
It was second nature with Polly to dance, and she did so with as much grace as she rode her father’s thoroughbred horses on the ranch; or hiked the Rockies, over boulders and down-timber like a fawn. Kenneth Evans, the youngest man in the party from the city, was by far the handsomest one in the group; and when he guided Polly through the maze of dancers, they both attracted much attention.
Tom stood and sulked while he watched Polly dance, but he refused to dance himself, although he was considered a most desirable partner by any one who had ever danced with him. Eleanor was having such a thoroughly good time while dancing with Paul, that she forgot about the romances and lovers’ quarrels of others.
The moment Kenneth escorted Polly to a chair and stood fanning her, Tom pushed a way over to them and said, quite assuredly: “The next dance is mine, Polly.”
“Why, I never told you so, at all!” exclaimed Polly, annoyed at Tom’s tone and manner. “How do you know there will be another one?”
Tom flushed and sent Kenneth an angry glance, although poor Ken was innocent of any guile in this case.
“If you do not care to dance with me, Polly, say so, and I’ll go to the smoking-room and enjoy the companionship of men who appreciate me,” retorted Tom, impatiently.
The imp of resistance took instant possession of Polly, and she said: “Tom, there’s where you belong—with men who want to talk about work and money. You are too old to enjoy youthful follies as I do.”
Tom had been dreaming of this meeting with Polly again, for so long, that now everything seemed shattered for him. He felt so injured at her mention of his age in comparison with her own, that he said nothing more, but turned on his heel and marched away without a backward glance. His very foot-falls spoke of his feelings.